Girls Chase Boys
by NaiveLove
Summary: Laura rolled her eyes, but remembered the boy lounging against the counter with the greased, dark curls and eyes. He probably didn't even remember her, the awkward, middle class girl behind the Dairy Queen counter. She didn't wear short skirts or lots of eye makeup, and wasn't nearly as stunning as a lot of the greaser girls she saw. She was a lost cause, mostly.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, thanks for reading my attempt at a story! Please, please let me know if you think this story is worth continuing. I wrote this on a whim, and truly have no idea where it's going to go. It's really just me trying to get into writing again. It started off as me trying to write an artsy paragraph about smoking, and as always, my unconscious led me into the Outsider's world. Laura was created in a snap decision, and here we are. If you think I, for some reason, should continue this please review or PM me. I would be ecstatic! Oh, and let me know you'd like to see make an appearance. Hopefully you already know who our main man is, after reading. Hopefully my writing isn't complete shit. Constructive criticism is 100% welcome. Thanks. **

**Disclaimer: Do not own any recognizable characters. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Tuesday, April 23rd, 1964.<strong>_

The smoke curled up in tendrils around her face, dancing along her pale lips and disappearing into the pitch dark sky. The tip of the offending object in her mouth glowed a muted red, and sparked angrily. She sucked in another slow drag, and let it linger in her lungs before exhaling slowly.

The Dairy Queen was a slow moving sort of place on a Tuesday night, and she was bored out of her mind. She didn't usually mind it; the lull in work, but today was particularly gruesome. She had taken to smoking Marlboros during her breaks, a habit that she didn't intend to snap. It was relaxing and killed time, and besides that, it was cool.

"Laura! You're break ended five minutes ago! C'mon!" a shrill voice sounded from the open kitchen door behind her. She sighed, stubbing her smoke out on the edge of the picnic table she was perched on. Laura scuffed her already dirtied tennis shoes through the dirt, unamused at the thought of returning to waiting on impatient people. She didn't work amongst the easiest crowd of people in Tulsa. She reluctantly pushed open the battered screen door that led into the kitchen. She sighed, and grabbed her tiny pencil and notebook off the counter and trudged out behind the counter.

"Finally. I've gotta get going. Have fun, Laurie." Shelly shot her a wry smile, tossing her notepad onto the counter next to the tips jar, and waving a dismissing hand behind her as she plucked her light blue jean jacket out from underneath the counter.

"Yeah, bye." Laura sighed, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. She only had two more hours of this.

The more than slightly rundown DQ was quiet at seven at night, and Laura dropped her pencil unceremoniously onto the countertop. A middle aged couple was sipping tiredly at lukewarm cups of coffee in the corner booth, and a few underclassmen from Rogers were slouched up against each other at the tables by the windows. Two of the young girls had their faces close together, giggling wildly as they gossiped. The boy next to the girl with the long red ponytail looked like he'd rather be anywhere then he was, and was stabbing at the melting ice cubes with the straw in his glass of Coke. Altogether, it wasn't the most uplifting atmosphere.

"Hey, doll, can I get a 7-Up?"

Laura blinked in surprise, jumping at the close voice. Coming to attention, she realized two boys, about her age, were lounging casually against the counter in front of her like they owned the place. She felt her face heat up for no particular reason that she could come up with, and blinked again.

"You alright?" the boy asked again, raising a dark eyebrow at her. He had dark curls smoothed back with hair grease, and a cigarette was glowing between two of his long fingers. His white t-shirt looked a little dirty, and he had a dark leather jacket tossed over the counter stool next to him. A greaser, if she ever saw one. They didn't normally show up here too often, but more than Socs did. The Dairy Queen Laura worked at was somewhere in middle ground, and usually only middle class kids hung around here. She felt her heart stammering in her chest, and she blushed further. He looked like a real hood.

"You can't smoke in here." She blurted out, reprimanding herself for being scared. He couldn't be any older than she was.

"You gonna stop me, sweetheart?" he smirked, leaning a bare arm against the countertop. The lean muscles in his arm contracted, and Laura's heart faltered again. He took a long drag off that cigarette, and exhaled slowly through his teeth. He was looking at her almost incredulously, an amused glint in his dark eyes. The boy next to him looked just as tough, but seemed more interested in watching the girls giggling by the window.

Laura watched the boy in front of her nervously as he sucked in more smoke.

"So you gonna get me that 7-Up?" he inquired, grinning in a way that made Laura want to shiver.

"Oh, right." She stuttered out, turning swiftly towards the swinging kitchen door. When she was getting the drink, she calmed herself down considerably, telling herself that she was an idiot. She couldn't let boys like that scare her witless. There wasn't really anything to be afraid of. She stuck a straw in the soda, and banged the kitchen door back open with her hip. The hood had draped himself over one of the high stools, his feet propped up on the one next to him, looking quite comfortable. His friend had wandered over to the group of mostly girls by the window, his arm slung around the back of the redhead's chair, who was giggling delightedly behind her hands, her eyes wide at the attention.

"Here." Laura said curtly, setting the glass down in front of him.  
>"That's ten cents." She prompted, crossing her arms. He flipped a dime at her, and tossed the straw she'd given him on the counter. He tossed half the drink back in one gulp, and Laura couldn't help but stare at him. She was still scared of him, though.<p>

As he finished the glass off, he grabbed his jacket with one hand, and slung it over his shoulder. He winked at her, smirk still on his lips.

"Danny, let's go. Didn't realize we suddenly had the time for you to pick up stupid freshmen." He struck a match against his thumbnail, and lit another cigarette, looking annoyed. His friend shot him a nasty look, but got up anyway without so much as a goodbye to the girl behind him. She looked disappointed, but quickly turned back toward her friends.

"Don't get your panties in such a twist, Tim." The guy grumbled, casting a glare at him. The guy shrugged, backing up towards the front double doors. He winked at Laura again, smirking through his cigarette smoke and saluting her. She blushed brightly, ducking her head. She heard their laughter as the door slammed shut. She couldn't wait to get out of the Dairy Queen.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Wednesday, April 24th, 1964.<strong>_

"Greasers, huh?" Penny said, looking slightly amused.

"Yeah, real hoods. They just surprised me, you know?" Laura scribbled mindlessly on the cover of her algebra notebook, not meeting her friend's gaze.

"Sure," Penny agreed, popping a stick of gum in her mouth. "Were they at least good looking?" she grinned behind a large bubble, and then popped it with her teeth. Laura rolled her eyes, but remembered the boy lounging against the counter with the greased, dark curls and eyes. He had been attractive in a mysterious way, and probably would have been stunning if she hadn't been scared stiff by him. The other boy wasn't as memorable.

"I guess." She offered lamely, refusing to admit she had found the guy attractive.

"They were, weren't they!" Penny crowed, blonde braid falling over her right shoulder. Wisps of her light hair had come down around her face, and her blue eyes were alight with glee. "I knew you had a thing for greasers. How couldn't you? There's something hot about bad boys, I'll admit." Penny grinned, dimples indenting each cheek.

Laura sometimes wished she was as beautiful as Penny. She was pretty in an innocent way, with her baby doll looks and small stature. She barely cleared 5'4", and was a tiny little thing. Her hair was a natural shade of blonde, and her china blue eyes were too large for her face, giving her this incessant doe-eyed look. The dimpled cheeks were just the cherry on top. Laura wasn't as stunning. She was almost 5'11", an unfortunate height for a girl. She was gangly and awkward, with bony knees and elbows. Her face was average, in her opinion. She had a few light freckles across her nose and cheeks, and full eyelashes. Her hair was a boring shade of brown, but she kept it shiny and healthy, and had recently cut it. It brushed across her shoulder blades as she walked, and she had never dyed or highlighted it. The only feature about herself that she could truly say she liked, were her eyes. They were a startling shade of green. Her mother called them "striking".

Laura looked back at Penny dubiously.

"He scared me stiff! Oh, I was a mess Pen. He got me all flustered. It was awful embarrassing." Laura groaned, shaking her head slightly.

"Flustered? He flirted with you?" Penny didn't hide her surprise, light eyebrows lifting. She had a bright smile across her face, suddenly riveted by what Laura had to say.

Laura started in surprise. Had he flirted with her? He had definitely made her squirm, but she hadn't even considered he might be flirting with her. She assumed he was only trying to make her uncomfortable. Why else would two greasers wander into a middle ground DQ? He had seemed unnaturally interested in her. And he kept winking and smirking at her. A lot of greasers did that though. No, he hadn't been coming onto her. Definitely not.

"I, I don't think so." Laura said slowly, but her eyebrows furrowed. Penny was looking gleeful again.

"A _greaser_ likes you. Who would have thought? I bet he's awful attractive, isn't he Laurie?" Penny gushed in a whisper. The teacher had strode into the classroom, and she didn't look amused about all the chatter. The announcements over the intercom had come to a close, and first period was about to begin.

"He was not flirting with me." Laura insisted stubbornly, just feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. Boys of her own social status didn't even like her. What would make Penny think anyone would? Especially anyone outside of her comfort zone. She lacked any sort of allure, and her height didn't help her out. The only thing she had going for her, was the fact that her chest had filled out over the summer but she was self-conscious about that now as well. If she couldn't get even any middle class boys to like her, what made Penny think this guy would? She barely spoke to any greasers, or Socs for that matter. She wasn't rich enough, pretty enough, well-dressed enough for a Soc. She didn't wear short skirts or lots of eye makeup, and wasn't nearly as stunning as a lot of the greaser girls she saw. She was a lost cause, mostly.

"You wouldn't know a boy was flirting with you if he kissed you on the mouth." Penny rolled her eyes, and laughed softly. "You'll have to point him out to me."

"I've never seen him around school, which is weird. He didn't look much older than us." Laura said, confused by that fact. Penny didn't look as nonplussed.

"He probably cuts class more than he shows up." She supplied, and Laura had to agree with that.

"He was with another boy though," Laura continued. "I've definitely seen him around before."

"Well, I hope you see that guy again. I want to see him." Penny shrugged, flipping her notebook open to a fresh page. "If he's planning on asking you out, I need to approve."

"He was _not_ flirting-,"

"Girls, please stop the side conversation," Mrs. Hanson gave them a tired look, midway through drawing up a polynomial equation in dusty chalk.

"Sorry." Laura mumbled, and slunk lower down in her seat, blushing. Penny rolled her eyes at her friend's reaction, and began copying the equation down.

"This isn't the end of this." She whispered, and Laura fought the urge to sigh. Penny was making the whole thing into a bigger deal than it was. The boys had barely been in the restaurant for fifteen minutes. It was hardly anything to get worked up for. And he hadn't even said ten words to her. It was honestly really sad that that was the most interaction she'd had with a boy in a while, but it was. She couldn't let Penny get hung up on it. It was really all embarrassing that she'd brought it up at all. He probably didn't even remember her, the awkward girl behind the Dairy Queen counter.

God, her life was boring.


	2. Chapter 2

**So this is short as hell, but I wanted to get something up. It's not all that great either, but it gets the story moving I guess. Now we know what Tim was up to when he met Laura. Please review, it would make my day. (:**

**Disclaimer: Don't own any recognizable characters.**

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, April 19th, 1964<strong>

"You can't keep your fat fucking mouth closed, can you?"

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, refusing to look at the pathetic form of life in front of him. He was ninety-nine percent positive that if he took so much as one glance at Curly right now, he would punch him straight in the nose. The things Curly did sometimes, man, did they make Tim wonder if he had half a brain.

"I didn't mean to, Tim." Curly mumbled tiredly, sounding like a broken record. If Tim pocketed a quarter every time he heard those five words, he'd be one rich man. He couldn't bring himself to respond, forcing himself to pretend that his idiot brother wasn't in front of him right now. Now he was a hundred percent positive he would beat the shit out of him.

"I tell you one damn thing. One. Of course you managed to fuck that up, and you didn't even have to do anything except shut your fucking trap." Tim snapped heatedly, tossing the remainder of his whiskey back. At the rate he was going, he'd be completely hammered by noon.

"I'm real sorry." Curly said in a small voice. Tim was definitely going to punch him.

"Sorry! Sorry don't even cover it. What the fuck were you thinking, telling _Dallas_?" Tim thundered. He slammed the empty glass down on Buck's counter, looking up to glare at Curly. He looked scared, Tim thought. He was twisting his hands around in front of him, his pale face flushed pink.

Tim couldn't believe such a fucking dumbass was related to him. No wonder Curly was flunking all his classes. His brain clearly didn't function correctly. He had given him one instruction, and that was to close his damn mouth and leave the hard stuff to Tim and Jack Campbell, Tim's second in command. Really, Curly didn't even come in third in command. He was somewhere like last. Tim had a hard time stomaching the fact that he intended to hand the reins over to Curly one day. He was becoming less and less keen on that by the day. All he'd had to do was shut his trap and play cool. Of course Curly had managed to fuck that up. He was incapable of doing anything correctly. It apparently just wasn't in his DNA.

Things had been slow for the Shepard gang lately, and Tim had finally come up with _something_ for his guys to do. It wasn't much, but it was something. Buck had been blabbering to Tim all week about how the rodeos were starting up again at the track down the road from his place. Tim had dismissed him multiple times before the idea hit him like a ton of bricks. Fixing races wasn't too hard, and his outfit could make a fortune off that shit. Curt Brandon, a guy he ran with, rode horses like it was his damn calling, and fixing a few races would be a breeze, or so Tim thought.

He couldn't help but shoot another glare at Curly, who was inspecting his face in the cracked mirror by Buck's door. His lip was split, and a nice bruise was slowly blooming across the left side of his jaw. Dallas had belted him something awful when Curly had happily supplied him with the information that Tim was set on fixing the upcoming race that Dally happened to be participating in. He had punched Curly straight in the jaw, and then hopped right on over to Buck, who had practically blown a gasket at the news. In short, Tim and Curt Brandon had been disqualified and Buck had even gone as far to ban them from the track. Tim wasn't even sure if he could do that. Dally had smirked smugly at Tim as he had stalked off, and that was the thing that had irked Tim the most. He couldn't stand Dallas Winston sometimes.

Tim jerked himself angrily out of the stool by Buck's counter, not able to stand the quiet. He wasn't sure why his feet had led him to Buck's after being kicked off the track, but here he was. He shoved Curly out of his way as he yanked open the screen door, and Curly muttered something incoherent under his breath. Tim didn't have time to deal with him.

He wasn't sure where he was headed, but he lit a Lucky Strike and jammed it between his chapped lips. His mood couldn't have been worse. So much for his plan of fixing races for the next month.

"Hey, Tim!" a distant voice called out to him, and Tim turned abruptly at the sound. A figure was jogging toward him from down the street, and he squinted to make out who it was. As they came into focus, Tim could see that it was Jack Duncan, his right-hand man. He took a long drag on his cigarette, relishing the calming effect it had on him.

"Jack." He called out as he slowed down and approached Tim. He was breathing a little heavily, and had a wide grin plastered across his tanned face. Tim didn't have a fucking clue what Jack had to be happy about, but he seemed damn thrilled.

"You're gonna love me," Jack said, grin never leaving his face. He stopped to catch his breath again, and Tim wondered vaguely how far he had run to catch him.

"Unless it involves beating the shit out of either Dallas or my brother, I don't see how it could make me love you." Tim snapped, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. Jack was always happy about a million things, and it was one of his qualities that grated on Tim's nerves occasionally. He was much too happy-go-lucky in his opinion.

"I got us a job."

* * *

><p>Tim struggled to see what sitting in the back room of a billiards hall in middle class territory shooting pool had to do with a job. Jack had dragged him halfway to hell to get to the place, it was in the complete opposite direction Tim had been heading, and he was annoyed. It had to be eight hundred fucking degrees in the place, with smoke swimming through the air and the close proximity to everyone. Tim was ready to bash Jack's head in at this point.<p>

Of course, Jack had conveniently disappeared the second they set foot in the place, and Tim was getting angrier by the second. He didn't like not being in control, and Jack had put him in that position. He didn't want Jack running the show on this one. He was about to get up and walk out when someone clapped him on the shoulder.

"C'mon," Jack said in a low voice, and Tim turned to give him an icy look.

"You better not be fucking around, Duncan." he growled, standing up quickly. He put his smoke out and followed Jack through the sea of people. The bar was already swinging in full force and it was barely six.

"I'm not, just trust me, man." Jack muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He led Tim through the kitchen behind the bar, and outside behind the place. A There was a guy leaning against the brick wall of the place, arms crossed. Another guy was standing rigidly next him, a cigarette pressed to his lips. The first guy was middle-aged, streaks of gray running through his once dark hair, but Tim noted the other guy couldn't be older than twenty one. He was tall and lean, with a head of bright red hair and brown eyes. His upper lip turned up slightly when he locked eyes with Tim. He had an edgy look in his eyes, like he knew something he didn't. Tim already disliked him.

"Took you long enough." the young guy said, blowing his smoke out in Jack's direction. Jack cast him an annoyed glance.

"Tim Shepard, huh." The older man swung his legs over the side of the desk, hopping down in a more agile manner than Tim had expected from him.

"That's me." Tim looked back at him stonily, not sure whether to let his guard down in front of this man or not. "Jack said you gotta job we can help you out with."

"That's right," the guy gave him a terse smile, folding an arm over his chest. "My name's Rob Jackson. This is Sam, my nephew. I own the place across the street." He informed Tim casually, losing the initial tough guy act. Tim raised an eyebrow in amusement, fighting a laugh. What had Jack gotten him into?

"The Dairy Queen?" Tim asked incredulously, trying and failing to stay professional.

"That's it." Rob said, clearly overlooking Tim's amused expression. "But I run a little side business see, and I'd like your boys help."

Now that was something Tim could listen to.

"Yeah, you got it. Whataya want from us?" Tim prodded, folding his arms.

"See, we run a little side business outta the garage down the street, selling car parts. It's got pretty big, and I'm too old for that shit, and it's too much for Sam to do on his own anymore."

"You want help stripping cars." Tim said, a devious grin beginning to form on his face.

"Took the words right outta my mouth." Rob said, evidently pleased with Tim's obvious like toward the idea.

"You got a deal, Rob. My boys are in." Tim said easily, confident his gang could follow through. Even Curly could strip a car.

"Great. Come by the place sometime this week. We'll see what we can do." Rob said, and shook Tim's hand. Tim grinned.

They were back in business.


End file.
